Going Gently
by Eggbert
Summary: Wizards growing old disgracefully. Someone's trying to evaluate a certain Mr Weasley and Mr Potter. They've got their work cut out for them...*warning for very mild slashy themes**


GOING GENTLY by Eggbert  
  
Summary: Old wizards never die, and they do grow old disgracefully. What happened when someone tried to evaluate a retired Auror and his life partner, the retired Head of Department for Magical Games and Sports? In report format. Warning for slashy themes, though as they're both 150 years old, don't expect anything graphicg.  
  
Rating: PG for language.  
  
Disclaimer: They're not mine, they're JKR's.   
  
Spoilers: None.  
  
A/N: Don't ask where this one came from. Because I'm not sure myself. There is a great deal of ageism in society these days; this is my humorous attempt to lay some prejudices to rest. (Stops ranting).  
  
Dedication: To Lynne, who'll never read it, but would get the point. Of that I'm sure.  
  
  
  
STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL.  
  
COPY OF THE REPORT OF PSYCHIARTIC AND PHYSIOLOGICAL EVALUATION OF MR RONALD ARTHUR WEASLEY AND MR HARRY JAMES POTTER  
  
  
  
My name is Professor Emeric Dinwiddie and I have been the Consultant Psychiatrist at St Mungo's for the past twenty years.  
  
I feel I have to state my credentials as I have just performed an assessment, which has turned my belief and value system on its head.  
  
I always accept referrals on a Monday. Mr Michael Creevy, currently employed at the Ministry as an Obliviator, had written to me in some distress. He was concerned about the mental heath of his great-uncle, Mr Weasley, and was expressing serious doubts about his ability, and that of Mr Weasley's life-long companion, to continue to live unsupported in the community.   
  
I wrote to Mr Creevy and informed him that I would be happy to assess them, but it would be up to him to persuade Mr Weasley and Mr Potter of the necessity of staying in the assessment unit for the mandatory two days.  
  
To this day I will never know how he talked them into it.  
  
Mr Potter and Mr Weasley duly arrived on the following Monday. My first encounter with them was an aural one.  
  
" This isn't bloody Brighton! " roared a voice. I hurried forward to introduce myself to the new arrivals. Mr Potter was a tall, thin man with a shock of white hair. Brilliant green eyes peered out at me from behind the thickest lenses I had ever seen. (Mr Creevy had mentioned Mr Potter's failing eyesight.)  
  
" You can't be a psychiatrist. " he told me flatly. " You look about twelve. "  
  
I assured him that I was indeed qualified and offered to show them to their rooms. The taller, thinner man beside Mr Potter gestured with his stick.  
  
" Room. " Mr Weasley (for it was he) said firmly. When I tried to object he fixed me with a chilly stare.  
  
" Listen, sonny. I've been sleeping with this old git since we were seventeen. If you want to try your hocus-pocus on us, you'll keep us together. "  
  
Suitably chagrined, I showed them to a room with twin beds. I hoped they wouldn't become aware of the Listening Spells placed there.  
  
" It'll have to do. " said Mr Weasley sadly.  
  
When I left them in the care of the charge nurse to settle in, Mr Weasley was whistling a maddeningly familiar tune. Our Muggle Archivist later identified it as the theme music from an ancient film.  
  
The Great Escape.  
  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The next morning I arrived on the assessment unit in time for the shift changeover. It took rather longer than usual as the night nurse took the time to enumerate all the surprises that Mr Potter and Mr Weasley had sprung on the throughout the night.  
  
The pair in question had refused to retire at a reasonable hour and Mr Weasley had complained about the colour and consistency of the bedtime drinks offered.  
  
" Looks like cat's piss, tastes like cat's piss he said. "  
  
When they //did// go to their room, the nurse had come across Mr Potter stark naked and wandering the corridors. He informed her he was looking for the bathroom in order to have his nightly wash. She redirected him to his bedroom (which has en-suite facilities) and asked him where his pyjamas were.  
  
" Never wear 'em! " he told her proudly.  
  
As she was leaving, Mr Weasley said (with obvious glee.)  
  
" You got into tro-uble! Fifty points from Gryffindor and you'll have to scrub out the bedpans. "  
  
" Oh shut up you old sod and go to sleep. " Mr Potter had replied testily.  
  
Apparently someone (and I got a very dirty look from the assembled staff) had neglected to inform Mr Potter and Mr Weasley of the two-hourly room checks.   
  
The unfortunate staff member who opened their bedroom door was hit with a Stunning Spell of such ferocity that propelled him six feet in the air and left him unable to complete his duties for the rest of the night. (See attached claimform for compensation for loss of earnings. Under the circumstances I have to allow this one. )  
  
Mr Potter later explained that, as Mr Weasley had been an Auror for the best part of a century, his reflexes were still razor sharp and had left him with a deep loathing of surprises.  
  
At the next check they were found to have moved the beds together and were entwined in each other's arms. (A verbatim transcript of the conversation as recorded by the Listening Spell follows.)  
  
" Why're we here, Harry? "  
  
" They think you're crackers and I can't be trusted on my own. "  
  
" Ah, that's bollocks. We do okay. And when we get out of here, young Michael's getting a piece of my mind. "  
  
" Sure you can spare it? "  
  
" Bloody cheek."  
  
" Seriously, Ron. I'll not let them take you away from me. "  
  
" If they do, my life is over anyway."  
  
(//kiss//)  
  
They spent the morning in the Resident's Lounge (known as 'God's waiting room' to the staff.) hurling good-natured insults at each other and being (deliberately?) obtuse to the staff.  
  
" When I want a piss I'll have one, dear. " (Mr Weasley's response to a toileting prompt.)  
  
" Call this food? Charlie's dragons couldn't even eat this crap! " (Mr Weasley's response to lunch in the dining room.  
  
In contrast, Mr Potter gave the kitchen staff a dazzling smile and asked if he could possibly have seconds.  
  
They flatly refused to join in with any of the activities provided by the co-ordinator. Instead Mr Weasley produced a bottle of whisky from somewhere, poured himself and Mr Potter a hefty noggin, sat down in front of the piano and began to play.  
  
Now he is undoubtedly a gifted pianist, and he can sing (which is unique in his family, according to Mr Potter) but the more whisky he consumed, the bawdier the songs became. Then came the accompanying hand gestures...  
  
Mr Potter enjoyed himself immensely and even took time to explain some of the lyrics to a few of the older witches. But for the most part he sat twinkling those arresting eyes at the prettiest staff members as his companion played on...  
  
The next day I carried out a battery of tests on both subjects (results attached).  
  
Mr Creevy came to collect them (getting a hefty whack round the shins for his trouble from Mr Weasley) and I told him I would owl him my findings later on, but there was no immediate cause for concern.  
  
What conclusions have I drawn from this? Stereotyping people is dangerous. Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are fitter than most to carry on with their day-to-day lives. Physically they are fitter than many wizards half their age. (Apart from Mr Potter's eyesight and Mr Weasley's arthritis) Of course, no one lives forever but I doubt one would survive long without the other. They both held very responsible posts and had long and distinguished careers with the Ministry and yet because they are old we feel they are valueless members of wizard society.  
  
Love that has survived for well over a century is rare indeed. I feel privileged to have met them both.  
  
And I wish them well.  



End file.
